


Lending A Hand

by Rockinmuffin



Series: Jerk Off [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Gender-neutral Reader, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, Humor, Mouth Kink, Other, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader is human, Reader-Insert, Saliva Kink, Sexual Humor, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Xenophilia, this is gross, whirl is a freak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinmuffin/pseuds/Rockinmuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Air huffs out Whirl’s vents in the equivalent of a resigned sigh.  “Look, you’ve already seen my spike.  No matter what happens beyond this point, things are going to be awkward as the pit between us, so we might as well do something to make that awkwardness worth it.”</p><p>You raise a single sly eyebrow at that.  “You’re assuming that I actually get anything out of this exchange.”</p><p>“How about the satisfaction of helping out a friend in need?”</p><p>“We’re not friends.”</p><p>“…The satisfaction of helping out an acquaintance in need,” he corrects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lending A Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, the beginning of this is just me trying to set up a reason for why a human would be aboard the Lost Light and, to be frank, my knowledge of MTMTE is limited to what I’ve been able to research off the Transformers wikia. If any of it messes or conflicts with the story’s timeline, feel free to point it out to me and let me know what’s wrong so I can correct it.
> 
> For the rest of you who couldn’t care less about the story and are just here to wank it to Whirl, enjoy the robot dick.

Your presence aboard the Lost Light is the result of months worth of paperwork, meetings, and a high dose of bureaucratic bullshit.

Megatron is a war criminal, guilty of heinous crimes against many worlds, including your own. And none of the world leaders of your planet would rest until humanity had some sort of role in Megatron’s fate, even if that only means keeping a human ambassador on board to keep an eye on him. It’s fortunate for Earth’s leaders that the Autobots in charge think that humans as a species are cute enough that they are willing to humor them.

Your being here is about as significant and purposeful as a wart on the underside of an elephant’s ass. Still, it looks pretty on paper and gives the bigwigs back home the illusion of having some modicum of control over the situation so, here you are: light-years from your planet on a ship full of giant alien automatons, pretending that you’re monitoring Megatron when, in reality, most of your days are merely spent trying not to get stepped on.

When your only job is to occasionally report on Megatron, it leaves you with a lot of free time. You’re navigating the ship’s corridors, wandering aimlessly in hopes to relieve your boredom. You think you might stop by Swerve’s for the rest of the evening because there are few things in the world more entertaining than drunken robots.

You’re trotting about at a casual pace, wondering what sort of misadventures the ‘bots are getting themselves into when that train of thought gets interrupted by a shout out of nowhere.

“Hey, meat-bag, c’mere.”

You turn and look up to see Whirl peeking his head out from the doorway to his suite. He curls his claws in a gesture for you to approach. Despite the casualness of his tone, something about his stance betrays his urgency.

You hesitate.

You recall your first day aboard the Lost Light, sitting in private with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus as they briefly go over the dossiers of the crew with you. One of the ‘bots sticks out to you—probably because he’s the only one who doesn’t have a face—and Ultra Magnus takes notice of your curiosity.

“If you value your life you would do best to avoid Whirl at all costs.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“He’s joking, he’s joking!” Rodimus slaps Ultra Magnus on the back with a good-natured smile even as Ultra Magnus’ lips purse into an expression that is clearly _not_ joking. The captain’s smile slowly shifts into a thoughtful expression. “Though, you probably shouldn’t hang around him without another witness around. Just in case.”

While that exchange ended up making you twice as wary of the blood-thirsty—energon-thirsty?—Autobot, you soon found that you had nothing to worry about. While your time in Whirl’s presence has been limited, the ‘bot’s interactions with you have consisted solely of him making mostly harmless jokes at your expense. Your personal favorite is his battle plan involving you causing a distraction by grossing out enemy combatants by getting your guts stuck on the bottom of their pedes when they step on you. _Hilarious_.

That being said, you and Whirl might not be on bad terms with one another but you’re certainly not friends by any stretch of the imagination. This is the first time he’s initiated a conversation with you without an audience present to witness as he makes you the butt of his joke.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts by something that sounds like a snap of the fingers but can’t be because Whirl has no fingers to snap.

“What, do I gotta’ tell you twice?” You can hear the bottom of his pede tap against the floor in his impatience. For someone who doesn’t have a proper face, he does a valiant job of making himself look irritated. “Get over here, fleshy.”

No good can come of whatever he wants from you; you _know_ this. You _should_ ignore him. You _should_ march your happy ass straight to Swerve’s and spend your evening laughing at tipsy robots. Hell, you should _really_ tell your superiors what a joke your assignment is and take a shuttle straight back to Earth.

Instead, you shrug your shoulders and take a couple steps closer.

“About time!”

Next thing you know, you’re hit with a wave of vertigo as you’re unceremoniously scooped up off the floor and carried into Whirl’s quarters. The door hisses closed behind him, cloaking the room in darkness with the exception of the single golden glowing eye staring directly at you and bathing you in its ominous light.

Ultra Magnus’ and Rodimus’ words of warning echo in your mind. You gulp audibly.

“So,” you start, sounding less nervous than you feel. “What do you need?”

“I’m glad you asked, meat-bag. But rather than tell you, let me _show_ you.”

Whirl lazily drapes himself across the berth, deposits you along an inseam of his hip, and begins messing around with some panels around his crotch.

You only take two seconds to be embarrassed about him messing around with his pelvis before the rational part of your brain begins to take effect. He’s a robot, for crying out loud. So what if he’s touching his crotch? It’s not as if he has anything there. Robots don’t wear clothes, so you think you’d know if they were packing anything.

Whatever he wants from you, it _can’t_ be that. The thought that he’d have dick is as laughable as it is illogical. He probably just has a loose wire or some debris stuck in a joint that he can’t reach.

You’re immediately proven wrong when out pops a robot cock at least half as big as you are.

You stare at it with dull surprise. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

“What?” You can hear the whir of machinery as he shifts his head to the side. “Is it too small?”

“ _Too small_? That thing would fucking _destroy_ me.”

“Aww, thanks.”

“That wasn’t meant to be a compliment!”

He shrugs.

You continue to eye the robot dick with a mixed expression of awe and fear. “I don’t know what exactly you thought I could do to help you but, whatever you had in mind, I refuse to be any part of it.”

“Aww, meat-bag, don’t be like that. I’m not asking you to sit on my spike or nothing. Just rub against it a little bit until I overcharge.” Whirl pauses briefly, clawed fingertips tapping along a seam on his hip. “Maybe a little dirty talk,” he adds in afterthought.

“What? _No_! I’m not helping you masturbate. Do it yourself!”

“Does it _look_ like I’m capable of self-servicing?” He holds up his wicked-looking claws to emphasize his point. _Yikes_. You wouldn’t want those things anywhere near your genitals, even if you were a ‘bot with metal naughty bits. “Do you think I _like_ asking an organic for help? If I could do it myself, believe me, _I would_.”

You wince in sympathy. “Okay, I get that you can’t exactly help yourself, but still… Why _me_? Why not ask any of the other ‘bots on the ship?”

“You mean other than the fact that they’re mostly all a bunch’a prudish glitch-heads?”

You cross your arms over your chest and stare at him expectantly.

Whirl heaves out of his vents a noise that sounds an awful lot like a sigh. You try to ignore the way his dick bobs with each movement. “Do you have any idea how distracting it is to fight alongside someone when you know what their spike looks like?”

“Uh…”

“Besides,” he continues. “You have those tiny little dexterous-looking servos. I bet they can reach all sorts of naughty places.” In spite of not having a proper face, he gives the distinct impression that he’s leering at you.

“Ew.” Your eyebrows furrow into a scowl. “Stop sexualizing my hands, you creep.”

“Only when you stop having sexy hands,” he responds.

You hide your hands behind your back.

Air huffs out Whirl’s vents in the equivalent of a resigned sigh. “Look, you’ve already seen my spike. No matter what happens beyond this point, things are going to be awkward as the pit between us, so we might as well do something to make that awkwardness worth it.”

You raise a single sly eyebrow at that. “You’re assuming that I actually get anything out of this exchange.”

“How about the satisfaction of helping out a friend in need?”

Your brow furrows. “We’re not friends.”

“…The satisfaction of helping out an acquaintance in need,” he corrects.

“And you may be _needy_ ,” you continue as you scowl up at Whirl with your hands on your hips. “But you’re not _in need_. You’re just horny and shameless and pretty much a terrible person all around.”

He shrugs his shoulder plates. “Guilty as charged.”

“So,” you continue. “While I can somewhat sympathize with your situation, I can’t see how helping you jack off would benefit me in any way.”

He pauses as if he’s actually giving your words some consideration. “If you help me out, I’ll owe you one.”

“Like, a favor?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs again. “If that’s what you want to call it. What’s the saying? You scratch my rack, I’ll scratch yours?”

“Back,” you correct.

“Same difference. Point is, meat-bag, you do this for me and I’ll be obligated to do something for you further down the line. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

It kind of does. Enough so, at least, that you’re actually considering taking it. The thought of jacking a giant metal dick doesn’t exactly do much for you but the thought of having a giant metal murder-bot _indebted_ to you is incredibly appealing. Hell, it’s not like it would even be the first loveless handy you’ve given someone.

And, if nothing else, you think this would make for a great story to tell all the folks back home on Earth.

“Alright,” you say with a steadfast nod of your head. You look him directly in his single optic. “It’s a deal. I’ll help you.”

“Great! Let’s seal it with a kiss!” You almost ask how he expects to do that without a mouth until Whirl enthusiastically grabs the base of his dick and adjusts himself so that the head of his cock is mere inches away from your face. Charming.

You take a step back and look from his dick to his face with a dull, unimpressed expression. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“Fiiiiiiiine,” he whines, throwing himself back on his berth with enough force that your feet shake beneath you. He throws one arm behind his head to help support the cabling of his neck while the other gestures down to his dick in a presentation that’s vaguely reminiscent of Wheel of Fortune’s Vanna White.

But you’re staring straight at a dick half your size, not a big green board with random letters strewn about it, and you kind of wish you had the option to spin again or buy a vowel or _something_ because you’re not quite sure if you’re ready to solve the puzzle.

“Okay.” You close your eyes, take a deep breath. You can do this. When you open your eyes again you’re staring up into Whirl’s single glowing optic. “Just tell me what to do.”

“What?” Whirl tilts his head, almost looking genuinely confused. “You mean, you’ve never—”

“Jacked off a dick almost as big as I am before?” you interrupt. “Surprisingly, _no_.”

“Well, don’t you worry your pretty little head over it, flesh-bag. With my expert guidance, you’ll be a spike-stroking master in no time!”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “I’m sure that’ll look great on my résumé.”

“You’d be surprised. How do you think I got this job?”

You stare up at Whirl in open-mouthed shock.

“That was a joke, by the way. If I could stroke a spike we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place.” Whirl sits up just a bit in order to lean over you, the light of his optic dimming in a way that gives the impression of a half-lidded expression. “Primus, you’re so gullible.”

“Hey, five minutes ago, I had no idea that sex was even _a thing_ for your species. At this rate, I’m willing to believe just about anything.”

“Anything, huh? Then believe _this_ , flesh-bag…”

Using the flat edge of one of his clawed fingers, Whirl nudges you towards his cock with enough force that you almost fall over and land face-first on top of it. Thankfully, you catch yourself just in time before his dick can give you a black eye.

“After this,” Whirl continues as if he hadn’t just almost accidentally taken out your eye and skull-fucked your socket. “You’ll be ruined for your species.”

“Uh-huh,” you respond, amused by his bravado but unimpressed. It’s almost cute how Whirl can come to you begging for you to touch his dick and then somehow convince himself that he’s the one doing you a favor. You’re not entirely sure if it’s arrogance or delusion.

“Hey!” he whines. “You don’t sound very convinced.” If he was capable of pouting, you think he would be.

You choose to ignore the mock-offended tone, instead focusing on the task at hand; or, more specifically, the task that will soon be in _your_ hand. “So,” you trail off as your eyes lower back to the elephant cock in the room. “Do you have any helpful robo-jacking tips for beginners before we get started?”

“Honestly?” He leans back again, getting into a relaxed position. “Just explore, try different things. You know; play around with it. If I don’t like something, I’ll tell ya. And if I _do_ like something, you’ll know.”

“And how exactly will I know?”

“Trust me,” he says, optic dimming and voice a low purr. “ _You’ll know_.”

You blink up at him slowly, unimpressed. “That’s not very helpful.”

“What do you want from me?” He throws his arms up, exasperated. “An instruction manual?”

Yes, actually, _you would_ , because even a simple silicone vibrator comes with a couple pages worth of instructions. Meanwhile, you’re here with a dick that looks as intricate and complicated as the Hubble space telescope and the only advice you’ve been given on how to handle it is _touch it_. Thanks for all the expert guidance, Whirl.

“Okay,” you say, hands on your hips. “Do you need lube, or…?” You trail off, briefly consider coming up with a joke about a lube-job but decide against it. You agreed to help get him off. If Whirl wants to be entertained, that’ll cost him extra.

Unaware of the grade-A comedy genius he’s being deprived, Whirl just kind of shrugs noncommittally in response to your question. Real helpful.

Okay, _fine_. Looks like you’re going in dry. Throwing caution to the wind, you decide that the best course of action is to bite the pillow and just go for it before you lose your nerve. You reach for his dick, placing your palm over the tip and rubbing along it in a circular pattern.

An appreciative hum sounds from Whirl’s vocalizer. “No need to be so gentle with me, sweetspark. You can grip a little harder. I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”

You increase your grip on him just a tad. “Better?”

He groans, unsatisfied. “Harder.”

You grip him with an amount of strength that would be painful for a human male then look up at him expectantly.

“You little fraggin’ _tease_ ,” he whines. “I said harder!”

You tighten both your fists around his dick like you’re trying to choke the life out of someone.

“Oh yeah! Now _that’s_ the ticket!”

You keep that firm grip as you move your hands up and down, taking great satisfaction in the soft bursts of static every time your fingers brush against a ridge just under the tip of his cock. It’s almost a shame he’s so large; if he could actually fit, a dick like this would probably feel pretty nice inside you. Not that you’d let Whirl fuck you even if he _could_ fit, but it’s a harmless enough thought worth entertaining within the safety of your own mind.

You tease him, loosening your grip around him and allowing your fingertips to lightly feather up and down the length of his cock. The reaction is instantaneous; Whirl shivers and bucks his hips and the most pathetic-sounding high-pitched whine you’ve ever heard leaks from his vocalizer.

“Stop it,” he tells you, voice almost too quiet to hear over the whirring of his cooling fans.

“Stop what?” you ask, playing dumb.

“You know what.”

Of course you do, but where’s the fun in just giving him what he wants? So, instead of complying, you tilt your head to the side while just barely suppressing the urge to smile. “Stop touching you?” You remove your hands from his dick, looking at him inquisitively with an arched brow and wide eyes.

“Noooo! You know what I want!”

“Do I?” You tilt your head to the opposite side. “After all, I am but a tiny flesh creature with an itty bitty brain. What could I possible know?”

“Stop teasing! Pleeeeeeaaaaaaaaase,” he cries and, holy hell, you think that’s the first time you’ve ever heard him use the word.

“Well,” you drawl, letting your hand rest on an inseam of his hip just to hear him whimper some more. Eventually you take pity on him and wrap your hands around him again, increasing your grip back to its previous stranglehold. “Since you asked so nicely.”

“Thaaaaaaaank yoooooooooou!”

Huh. So all it takes to get Whirl to show some proper manners is to help him get off. Who’d a thunk it?

He continues to whine out little sounds that might be more murmurings of pleas and thanks but it’s hard to decipher through all the static. For a guy without a mouth, he’s pretty vocal. Not that you mind. You can appreciate that in a partner.

What you _don’t_ appreciate is the way your arms and hands are beginning to cramp up.

You don’t usually wish for partners with low stamina but you kind of hope that Whirl is the type of ‘bot who finishes early because the amount of energy you have to exert just for him to feel what you’re doing is downright exhausting. You’ve barely even started and the muscles in your arms are already beginning to ache from your efforts.

Some lube might be beneficial after all, if only to make your job a little easier.

You pull your hands off him, taking mild delight in the disappointed groan that follows. You look him right in his single optic as you spit into your hands, rubbing them together to spread the saliva along your palms, before placing them back onto his dick.

You expect to hear a groan of disgust; some kind of weak protest, at the very least. He doesn’t even grace you with some kind of joke at your expense about gross human bodily functions. Instead, you hear a drawn-out whore moan that reverberates so deeply you can feel it pulsing in your chest. You look up to see Whirl staring directly at a string of saliva connecting from your hands to his dick.

Holy hell, Whirl is a fucking _freak_.

You take all of five seconds to allow this revelation to shock you before you remember what kind of mech Whirl is and decide that this information really shouldn’t be of any surprise. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard him talk about getting a hard-on from punching a guy in the face. Granted, you’d thought it had been a joke at the time but, whether you like it or not, you’re beginning to know better.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts then set back to work. You wrap your fists back around him and pump, the slickness of your saliva easing your movements, helping you smoothly jerk his dick in fast, fluid motions.

“About time.”

You shoot a glare Whirl’s way but don’t stop fucking him with your hands. As much as you hate to reward rude behavior, stopping again will only prolong the process. You only pause long enough to remove one hand and lick across your palm before continuing.

“Frag yeah,” he moans in a deep-sounding voice that is probably meant to be encouraging and sexy but it sounds like he’s trying too hard to be suave for it to have the desired effect. Besides, you’ve already heard him keening with high-pitched whines like he’s getting utterly _wrecked_. What a nerd.

Your back is beginning to strain from the way you’re leaning over him so you kneel down and position yourself in a way that has your knees placed at either side of his dick and the tip is just about eye-level. You circle your arms around his shaft and lean against it, allowing your cheek to rest against the living metal. The moment the flesh of your cheek meets metal, a sharp burst of static hisses from Whirl’s vocalizer, followed soon after by the increased whirr of cooling fans as they struggle to cool down overheating systems.

“Oh slag,” he whines, optic moving back and forth from your face to your hands. He lifts himself up into a seated position, single optic glowing with a soft light as he watches you touching him. You can hear the sound of scraping metal as his claws dig into the berth.

You let out a satisfied hum, corner of your lips turning up into a sly smile. Loveless hand job aside, it’s still nice to know that your efforts are genuinely appreciated. And what Whirl lacks in social graces, common decency, and a straight moral compass, he makes up for it in how unashamedly vocal he is in bed.

“Yeah, that’s real nice.”

You look up and almost jolt back when you see how close Whirl’s face is to you. He’s hovering over you, the light of his optic illuminating against your skin. If he had a mouth, and if breathing was a thing robots even did in the first place, he’s close enough his breath would ruffle the hair clinging to your face.

The clawed tip of his finger hovers over you. Like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know how. You really hope he doesn’t try to hold your hair or cop a feel or anything. Whirl isn’t the type of ‘bot who’s in control of his facilities under the best of conditions so you can only imagine the damage he might cause to you in the throes of orgasm.

Whirl touches you, barely; sharp metal fingertips tiptoeing down the steps of your spine. Against your better judgment, you allow it.

He settles for keeping his hand under the heft of your ass, giving you something to rest against as you continue to stroke him. You’re not sure if he’s trying to be gentlemanly and offer you a seat or if he’s just looking for an excuse to touch your butt but either way you’re grateful for the relief it provides to your sore knees.

As a sign of gratitude, you bring both of your hands to your mouth and drag your tongue across your palms, re-slicking the flesh before returning them to his dick.

You hear Whirl’s breath hitch. Well, _logically_ , you know Whirl’s breath doesn’t hitch because he cannot breathe; you know this. He is a robot made of metal and wire and circuits. He does not have lungs. And yet, before today, you had been sure he didn’t have a dick either.

“Hey, fleshy,” Whirl drawls, getting your attention.

You look up at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Think you could use your mouth on me too?”

You pause the motions of your hands and fix him with an unimpressed glare.

“Sheesh! It was just a suggestion.”

You roll your eyes but set back to work, wrists and fingers sore as you grip tightly and pump him hard. “Why are you so obsessed with my mouth, anyway? It’s not as if I can do anything with it. I’m pretty sure I’d break my jaw attempting to fit the head in my mouth.”

“Maybe, but it would be soooooooooo hot.”

You pause again, just long enough to look up at him with a raised brow.

Whirl almost has the decency to be embarrassed. “Don’t look at me like you’re judging me.”

“But I _am_ judging you,” you reply honestly.

“Well, _don’t_ ,” he huffs. “I like your mouth. And I like the idea of you _using_ your mouth on me.”

“You’re gross.” You try to look disgusted but you’re fighting to hold back the smile that’s quirking the corner of your lips.

“This is hardly the grossest thing I’ve said to you. This probably isn’t even the grossest thing I’ve said to you in the last ten minutes.”

“True.”

You wince as you continue to pump his dick. More than just sore, you’re getting tired. You allow your whole body to lean into him, your chest pressed to his dick and arms wrapped around him in what might be an innocent hug if not for the fact that the action causes a drop of whatever it is that robot’s have for pre-cum to bead along the tip.

“Oh _Primus_ ,” Whirl groans as your adjusting of your position causes the soft flesh of your cheek to drag along the sensitive head of his cock.

You flinch as he suddenly bucks his hips. The wild thrusting continues and you are forced to grab hold of the dick in front of you for dear life just to prevent yourself from flying off and falling to your death.

You can’t imagine he’s getting much friction but Whirl still makes a series of frantic-sounding moans as he wildly bucks his hips. Even with your arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, the force of his thrusts is enough to cause your whole body to slide back and forth along the length of his erection, bobbing you up and down with every desperate movement.

The worst part is that the pressure is actually starting to get to you. The constant grind of warm living metal between your legs is causing your heart to race, your nipples to pebble, and your blood to rush straight to your groin.

“Shit,” you whine, embarrassed as hell. If you cum from this tool’s amateur attempts at dry-humping then you’ll never hear the end of it from him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be aware of anything other than the sensations of his own dick.

He reaches down and the flat edge of his clawed servo moves to press you firmly against his cock. The pressure is unbearable. It’s so hot and moving against you _just right_ and, holy shit, is he vibrating? Fuck, he totally is. That’s not even fair.

You haven’t creamed your jeans since you were in high school but if this lasts much longer you run the risk of ruining a perfectly good pair of underwear. And it’s very hard to find a new pair in the depths of space. Probably. You can’t say you’ve actively gone looking for any.

You’re jolted from that train of thought by a particularly savage thrust that nearly causes you to lose your balance.

“Slag! I’m so close!” Whirl presses you against him even tighter, pressure just shy of being painful. “I’m so fraggin’ _close_!”

Whirl continues to buck and moan while all you can do is hold on like you’re riding a particularly inappropriate mechanical bull. You can feel the metal beneath you heating up, almost burning if not for your cloth of your pants shielding your skin from direct contact.

Whirl is a hot mess, vocalizer stuttering with static bursts and cooling fans working so hard you can feel his entire frame vibrating beneath you. You know it’s completely unintentional on his part but the shivering of his frame mixed with the vibrations of his cock between your legs and his shameless moaning causes your toes to curl and your breath to hitch. If this keeps up much longer, you’re going to cum and, shit, wouldn’t that be embarrassing if Whirl gets you off without even trying?

You’ve got to bring this to an end.

“Hey, Whirl.”

You can feel the glow of his optic’s light as he stares down at you. You make sure to maintain eye contact as you make a show of puckering your lips and pressing them to the tip of his dick in a mockery of a chaste kiss.

“ _Oh Primus_ …” he whines, the light of his optic flickering. “I’m going to overload soon. Gonna get my transfluid all over you. Bet you’d look so good covered in the stuff.”

You pull your head back. “Now, hold on just a minute—”

But it’s too late. Something bright and toxic-looking shoots out his dick and all over you.

You sit there quietly for a moment, allowing the reality of your situation to sink in as you feel something warm and tingly slowly ooze its way down your skin.

“You jerk! My clothes are drenched in robot jizz and it looks like this shit stains!”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all.

You run your fingers through your hair and make a face. “Oh God, it’s in my _hair_.”

“It’s a good look for you.”

“Ugh! You’re the absolute _worst_.” You scrunch your nose. “I think you got some in my mouth too. Is it toxic? Am I going to die?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves his claw at you casually. “It’s probably not dangerous.”

“ _Probably_?!”

Whirl just tilts his head to the side at you in a way you’ve learned translates to a mirthful smile. He messes around with the panel along his crotch and you watch in morbid fascination as his dick retracts. “You should probably go hit the showers before that dries.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit!”

“In the meantime, I’ll be at Swerve’s. Gotta’ go get energized after releasing a charge like that.”

He leans against the wall, looking down at you with a soft light in his optic that you might mistake as fondness if you didn’t know any better.

“You were great, by the way. A real natural. Are you _sure_ that’s the first time you’ve jacked off a spike almost as big as you are before?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, grabbing the end of your shirt and wringing it out. You cringe as bright, glowing robot jizz leaks from the material and onto Whirl’s berth. Gross. He better not expect you to clean that. “Don’t forget, you owe me one.”

“Yup. One overload, redeemable upon request!”

“Yeah,” you respond automatically before your brain actually registers what he just said. “No, wait, that’s not—”

“And, hey, next time I might even let you get in on some hot valve action!” He leans down over you, light of his optic dimming in a way that’s vaguely reminiscent of the lowering of someone’s eyelids. “Get you shoulder-deep in there!”

“Next time? No, there’s no _next time_. This was a onetime thing. It shouldn’t have even been _that_.”

But he’s already out the door, leaving you alone in his quarters, still strangely aroused and soaking in hot robo spunk.

“…And what the fuck is a valve?”


End file.
